Free As A Bird
by tryingthiswritingthing
Summary: So, recalling the expression 'free as a bird', Morton Feldman went to a park one day and spent some time watching our feathered friends. When he came back, he said, "You know, they're not free...they're fighting over bits of food."
1. The Dispute

**Author: in February of 2015, I landed myself in the hospital because a horse fell out from under me while I was riding it and the ground knocked me even more senseless than usual. I didn't have a lot to do, so I decided to try this writing thing. I grew up with some, uh, interesting people, fell into a ludicrously dangerous career that I am extremely passionate about, and possess both a pretty colorful vocabulary and a profound dislike of social interaction. I have a penchant for cleanliness that is the stuff of legend among my peers and I never achieved the height of five feet. Needless to say, I identify strongly with everybody's favorite captain, so he seemed like a good place to start...**

* * *

He had heard it said several times before—that you could not pick your family, but that you could pick your friends. Whether or not this was true, he wasn't sure, but as of late he had found himself sincerely hoping that it was not the case—if only because he really didn't want to live in a world in which the best friend that he could find was Commander Erwin Smith.

"Yeah, there is absolutely no fucking way that is ever going to happen."

Across the desk, a vein bulged in the commander's thick neck. Though they had become a less regular scene as a sense of camaraderie had taken root, the two men had subjected each other to many office chats over the years. Said chats always seemed to reach this same point sooner or later—Erwin, half-standing over his armed wooden chair with a visible pulse, and he...he would sit with his arms and legs crossed, eyes downcast, radiating a mixture of defiance and disinterest that varied in composition by the occasion. That was not to say that he _was_ disinterested, of course—he just failed to see a need to expend as much energy as his superior did.

"Levi, you are being ridiculous—and that is not to say that I am particularly surprised, but I had really hoped that we had made it past this point in our relationship by now!"

"Spare me the love ballad, please—look, I even used my fucking niceties. I don't know how to make it any more clear: this idea is all kinds of shit and a waste of everyone's time...mostly mine." The man called Levi lifted his dark gaze to meet Erwin's, whose eyes were now shining with frustration.

Erwin banged a heavy fist on the table. "I ask so little of you, Levi—so little. I only—"

"—only to risk life and limb on a regular basis, be an extremely public figure in a time of humanity's existential crisis when I actually would rather drink tea and jerk off in a corner, subject me to a never-ending trail of shit in the name of the human race that I'm not particularly a fan of to begin with..." Levi snorted derisively. "Do I need to continue? I mean, that's not much, I suppose, but I'm sure that I could think of more."

The silence in the office was heavy, weighted by Levi's words. Erwin sighed, sinking back into his chair. "Yes, Levi, I ask that of you—all of that and more." He suddenly looked several years older and much less angry. "I am well-aware of how much it is that you do—you do know that, right? I know how much it is that I've asked for, how much you have lost...and still you have delivered every time. That's exactly why I now must ask you for yet one more thing." He folded his calloused fingers and rested his long, crooked nose against them, the lines on his face very visible in his stillness. "I ask you to form a specialized, elite squad of soldiers...one capable of following you unquestionably. I ask you to help them further cultivate their existing talents. I ask you to do this because, no matter what people are saying when you ride through the gate these days, you are still only one man and you need the support that this kind of group can provide because _we need you alive_...and I ask this because there are so many that could do so much for the good for the Scouts as a whole, too. I give you choice over who you pick and how you pick them: I am handing you the reins, albeit against my better judgment. I ask this in consideration of the welfare of humanity and even you, you ungrateful little shit...and you somehow still object."

"That sounds about right," agreed Levi, picking at a spot of dirt under one fingernail.

"...but _why_?"

Levi sniffed; there was an edge to his apathy now. "I'm not a babysitter. I've committed to a lot of nonsense that I never signed on for...but when it comes to supervising a herd of shitty brats with Titans breathing down our necks, yeah, my skin is more important than child-rearing responsibilities. I'm drawing a line."

"No..." said Erwin, and he shook his head. "I know that you forget this often when you are talking to me, and maybe that's something that is my fault, but you would do well to remember... _it is not your place to draw lines_."

"People are going to die."

His words were frank and matter-of-fact; they colored the office with a shadow that the warmth of the many lit lamps failed to touch.

Erwin drew a deep breath that shuddered slightly in his chest. "People are going to die anyhow—horrifically, naturally, asleep in their beds...people are going to die. It's about time that they started dying doing something of value to someone."

Levi said nothing; the sharp line of his jaw had become more defined. Erwin continued, blue eyes narrow with authority.

"So, what I am giving you now are orders—you _will_ do exactly what I have asked. I know that you won't disobey a direct order from me," he added as Levi opened his mouth. "You haven't since you were a shitty little brat yourself and I know that you're not going to start again now."

Levi snorted. "You have an inordinate amount of faith in me, Erwin."

"Do I?" said Erwin, and a smile ghosted his hard, grim features. He leaned back in his chair. "That's probably healthy."

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, faith is generally considered to be a good thing."

" _Tch_...faith gets people killed."

"I would say that it is being of so little faith that gets us killed, actually. You know..." said Erwin, and he looked at Levi as though seeing him for the first time in a while. "The first time that I saw you three, flying through the underground city like birds, I smiled—I smiled because I was a young and ambitious fool who saw the world in you...and because I had no idea what loose cannons and frequent headaches you were going to turn out to be."

Levi lifted his jaw and blinked once, something moving behind his eyes.

Erwin shook his head. "Look, my point is this: first impressions are often entirely incorrect. With luck, your immediate impression of this situation may change...for the better."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"Well, you're going to find out, one way or another. Now, if I were you, I would start planning on what sort of Hell you are going to put your potential recruits through, since I'm sure that is going to be something to see, and it is rather late...on your way."

Levi stood and Erwin was, far from the first time, surprised by how someone so small could burn so fiercely. Levi didn't push his chair in as he left it and closed the door behind him with more force than necessary; it rattled in its frame when it slammed shut, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

The commander waited until the sound of boots had faded down the hallway before he leaned back in his chair, tilting his chin back to look at the ceiling. Something throbbed painfully over his left eye and his mind flashed back to other occasions in which he had found himself in this exact position. There had been several—Levi, for all of his capability and courage, was trying at the best of times and exhausting when provoked.

Christ, he needed a drink.

* * *

 **Author: updates are on Mondays so that I have something to actually look forward to on Mondays.**


	2. The Interview

"Oh, this is so, so, _so_ exciting!" Hange Zoe pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her long nose from where they had slipped as she fidgeted in her seat. "This is such an opportunity for so many, especially for the young people—I can't _wait_ to see what kind of soldiers they turn out to be! This is the opportunity and the adventure of a lifetime for them—aren't you just so _excited_?" she finished breathlessly, stopping only for air. Levi put a finger to her lips before she could relaunch into her manic monologue.

"I wasn't excited yesterday. I wasn't excited five hours ago when we started this shitty-ass process. I don't know why you think that there's a chance that I may be excited now, unless you mean excited that we are almost done...in which case I am _absolutely thrilled_."

Commander Erwin had learned, though it had taken quite a bit of trial and error (largely error) over the course of several years, that Levi was incredibly difficult to punish. The captain viewed most aspects of daily life as a chore, so putting him to work did little to change his demeanor; he was fastidious in his personal habits, so turning him loose with a mop for hours was basically a reward. He wasn't even particularly easy to discipline—though diminutive, Levi was a powerful athlete...far from invincible, but a smoother operator than Erwin had hoped for in the face of compulsory exertion. Such feats were likely fueled more by defiance than rote physicality. Running laps—a military favorite—did nothing: Levi would finish, choking for air, and he would still look at Erwin with iron in his eyes. Training for the next set, Levi would call it, and Erwin would return to his office, kicking himself the whole way back for thinking that the most recent set could have ended any differently than the one that had came before it. Sticking him in a room with Hange, on the other hand...well, it was clever of the commander if he had wanted Levi to pay his dues.

A deep bond of trust existed between Levi and a handful of the Scouting Legion's top officers—a bond forged in a trail of blood and grief and primal fear. In importance, that bond came before any horse, swordplay, or omnidirectional maneuver; it was the beginning and the end of every act in the field. Hange, however, also managed to retain all of the qualities of an expensive spice: unusual and interesting, but best in small doses.

The woman was already prattling again; Levi tried to gather his thoughts back into his head and tune into what she was saying. He found it to be a challenge; she was only part of the many things that had exhausted his brain that day, though a very large part none the less.

"Hey—" he said, and to his surprise and relief, she stopped talking and looked at him with the eager intent of someone standing on the cusp of a great adventure. He leaned back in his chair; his back cracked with stiffness. "Let's review."

"Well," said Hange, and as she reached across the tabletop to seize the smallest of three stacks of paperwork, an overly-enthusiastic stray elbow caught the rim of a coffee mug and sent its contents sloshing over the other side of the desk.

"...and there goes my last bit of liquid sanity," Levi grumbled.

"...and also the hot seat. Whoops...sorry there, little chair—" Hange apologized brightly to the straight-backed wooden chair opposite them, the seat of which was now occupied by a steaming puddle. She rifled through the paperwork. "Well, there's Mr. Ponytail."

"That's Eld Shin."

"Yeah, that guy..."

"Keen strategist, athletic, more mature than that shitty up-do suggests...he graduated at the top of his class, too."

"Huh..." Hange squinted. "Yeah, that's true. Why didn't he join the Military Police, then?"

"Probably because he's an idiot..."

" _Why_ would you pick him if you think that there's a good chance that he's an idiot?"

"If he's an idiot, then maybe he'll give me an excuse to send him back to whatever slop bucket that he came from sooner rather than later."

"Oh, ye of so little faith..."

"Why does everyone keep talking about having faith like it is the best thing that you can possibly have? I'd rather just have a good steak."

"What's that?" said Hange, blinking. Her dark eyes were unfocused behind her glasses.

Levi snorted. "Forget it. You can't read and think at the same time." He shook his head, willing his brain to reengage. "Who's next?"

"There's the guy named...Gunther Schultz. He seemed pretty plain. You liked him."

"'Liked' is a strong word for 'didn't find intolerable'."

"Well, it's a start," Hange said briskly, undeterred. "So what is it about him that you find so tolerable?"

"He's got some grit," Levi replied slowly, picking his words carefully to avoid any gratuitous compliment. "He's killed seven Titans by himself and that's before you factor in what's been done as a team. He's judgmental, which is probably why he's not dead yet. There's a temper, but I can live with that if he's...constructive with it. If I'm going to have to babysit, I'm not babysitting princesses."

"That's...fair," Hange agreed. "Anyhow...I only said that Schultz was plain. Honestly, it's that other guy that I _really_ don't like."

"Do you have a problem with everyone or is it just the ones that don't piss me off?"

"No, no, Mr. Ponytail was okay; I just think... _that_ guy's a cocky bastard."

Levi lifted his gaze to examine Hange's skeptical face. "If any shitty brat that the Scouts have scrounged up in the last seven years has earned my begrudging respect, Oluo Bozado has."

"He's..." Hange waved her hands as though looking to grab the words for exactly what Bozado was out of the air between them. "He's so _rude_ ," she finished, exasperated.

"I know," said Levi. "He's also a shoe-in. He has exceptional combat skills—and the highest solo kill rate in the military."

"That's not including you, though."

"No, it's not."

Hange snorted. "Always modest..."

"Yeah, well, I'm a lot of things but a liar isn't on that list."

"He's _old_ ," Hange persisted with a tone of desperation.

"So am I."

"I don't like him."

"I don't, either."

"You don't like anyone; it doesn't count."

" _Tch_..." Levi sniffed, reaching to pick up his coffee before remembering that it had been unceremoniously emptied for him.

Hange was skimming the files before her again, eyes traveling across each page rapidly. "You know..." she said, squinting behind her glasses. "There's not a lot here on any of them, but I can tell you this: none of these guys are anything like you."

Levi snorted derisively. "If I wanted more of me, it would probably be easier for me to cut myself in half and be in two places at once than to turn one of this lot into anything resembling the sort."

"Someone's grumpy," said Hange, shaking her head.

"You spilled my coffee."

"You don't even really drink coffee."

"I need it. I'm having a particularly unpleasant day."

Hange gave a bark of laughter; this one did not extend to her dark brown eyes. "How can it possibly be unpleasant? Nothing has even tried to kill you yet."

"Monotony has. I kill Titans, Hange. I don't sit on my ass, I don't push papers, and to prevent distemper, one must not expect me to run my mouth to people on the other side of a desk for five _fucking_ hours."

Hange sighed. "You lot think that I'm the crazy one—and here you sit complaining about the closest thing to a day off that you've seen in God knows how long." She looked up from the files. Her expression was hard to read. Levi became very preoccupied with something outside the window where the late afternoon sunlight was flooding the streets of the capitol.

They didn't speak for a time. Hange read and re-read the paperwork on the three men, occasionally scratching something into the margins. Levi alternated between picking at his nails and resisting the urge to doze. It was very warm in the office; his brain was feeling fuzzy again. Unsurprisingly, Hange was the one to break the silence.

"I don't understand, though."

" _Hmm..._?"

"I don't understand why you're interviewing them."

"It's not complicated," Levi said. "If they're flying through the air in training, then I don't know how unbelievably annoying they are. I have to live with these people. I'm responsible for them; I'm supposed to keep them alive rather than strangle them all in their beds. I can take one of Oluo, maybe, but no more than that. I can see what they are without actually watching them do it...that's what we do the mountains of paperwork for. I'm more concerned with _who_ they are."

"Does that really mean...?" Understanding dawned on Hange's face. "You've been tasked with leading the top squad in the military and you're picking them all based on their military history and a fifteen-minute conversation alone. That's it."

"That's basically it," said Levi, lazily flicking a spot of lint from his thigh. "Given time, I can fix incompetence. I can't fix complete idiocy."

Hange's disbelieving response was cut short by a rising clamor outside the door on the opposite side of the room—the sound of several pairs of boots echoing in the tiled hall beyond.

"I think that the break is over," Hange said, still looking slightly rattled. "It sounds like the rest of the candidates are back...are you ready to pick the last one?"

Levi shook his still-foggy head. "Send in whoever's next."

"'Whomever', you mean...bring us the next victim!" she called, and the noise outside the door halted as abruptly as it had begun. "At least try to look excited, if you can," Hange added quietly. "Regardless of how arbitrary and half-assed your whole process is, this is supposed to be _exciting_."

"I don't see what's so exciting," Levi responded idly. "It's been the same thing over and over again. I can already tell you _exactly_ what is going to happen. Someone is going to walk through that door in thirty seconds. They are going to be male, younger than me, at least a head taller—probably blonde," he added. "He is going to sit down on the other side of this table, wide-eyed and singing my praises—probably including something about how I was his hero as a child, just to make me feel that much older—and I'm going to have to sit here for at least ten minutes and pretend to care about everyth—"

He was interrupted by the creak of the heavy wooden door; someone stepped into the room. Levi didn't see their face at first because his eyes were looking expectantly a good foot over where they should have been fixed to accomplish such a feat. Three things were immediately evident, however, once his gaze settled on the newcomer: they weren't male, they definitely weren't particularly tall, and they weren't even blonde.

Hange said something and Levi wasn't listening again. His interest was piqued; the heavy, fuzzy feeling in his dead had dissipated very suddenly—not because he saw a particularly promising candidate before him, but because his life had been a haze of monotony for hours and, well...something new was something new.

"Who're you?" he said, and the words came out a lot more roughly than he had meant for them to. _Damn it; I'm tired_.

The girl opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard and tried again, and Levi was surprised at the strength behind her voice when she spoke. He'd been expecting some small, shy thing.

"Petra Ral, sir—" she said, and she slung one fist behind her back and the other over her heart.

Levi nodded. "Come in. I'm not going to bite—despite whatever the Hell it is that they're saying out there."

Petra Ral's face broke into a wide smile as she approached the desk. Her features were soft; her strides were long and comfortable.

"Don't sit there," said Levi quickly as the girl made to pull out the chair. "Someone who wasn't me lost track of their elbows."

The girl blinked. Her eyes were amber like a cat's. "Um, okay—" she said, and she stood before the desk expectantly, still smiling, though her expression had become one of polite confusion—one eyebrow wasn't quite level with the other.

"Ral, was it?" Hange asked, pushing folders across the desk.

"Yes, Section Comma—"

"Why're you here?" Levi interrupted.

If the girl was surprised, she didn't show it as she shifted her unblinking gaze from the woman to the man before her. "I want to be a member of the new Special Operations Squad under your command, Captain Levi. I'm confident that my skill set is proficient for something as specific as this position requires and that my previous experiences have prepared me sufficiently to fill such an important role."

 _Just when you think you've found something that isn't boring, it proves you wrong_ , Levi thought derisively. He crossed his arms. "That's nice. A shit ton of people have shown up today who are confident, proficient, experienced...why should I take you?

"I'm a good solider, sir."

"Why are you good?"

"...because I have to be if I don't want to die."

There was something about her tone, he realized suddenly; her words may be bland and well-rehearsed but something was not quite right. Levi narrowed his eyes to examine the face in front of him for the first time—really looked at it, studying its soft edges openness and brightness. She was so young, he realized: he hadn't seen it at first, but in front of him was a child that spoke like—sounded like—a combat veteran...someone who had seen Hell on Earth and not let it take the light from their eyes.

"Let me see that," Levi said, snatching Ral's file directly from Hange's hands without waiting for permission. He skimmed it, looking for a specific section and when he found it, a particular piece of information jumped off of the page at his tired eyes. He looked up at the girl, then down at the page, then back up again. _Surely that isn't correct_. _There are house cats more imposing than she is_. _She looks strong, but she's so damn small_...

"It says here that you've killed thirty-something Titans in team efforts."

"That's correct."

"...at your age?"

A glance that flitted like a bird: "That's correct, Captain."

Levi sat up somewhat straighter in his chair. "Tell me about yourself," he said, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward.

Petra Ral did not lean away.


	3. The Beginning

"Fucking disgusting..."

Levi's boots slid across the slick mud. He scrambled for traction and found none, leaving a long gouge in the ground.

 _Humanity's strongest, almost beaten by some rain..._

He tugged on the reins that slipped and slid through the fingers of his right hand. After a brief moment of resistance, his horse followed him morosely from the shelter of the stables and into the rain, ears flattened against the weather.

"I'm not thrilled, either," Levi said plainly, folding the reins against the horse's neck with his left hand and grabbing the stirrup iron with his right. As he swung into the saddle, finding a few choice words for the world and everything in it, movement across the stable yard caught his eye and what he saw made his dreary day grow immeasurably worse.

Premier Darius Zackly was riding towards him astride a kindly-looking black gelding, Commander Erwin following a few feet behind him on a tall, refined mare. The premier examined Levi with an expression akin to someone examining a slightly concerning rash.

"You're late."

Levi did not respond.

"This is some weather," Erwin said, filling the silence gracelessly. He wiped rainwater from his forehead. "Levi, the premier has expressed interest in watching your new squad train today—I invited him out for the morning. The government was reasonably generous in their budget for this venture, hence the interest from the higher-ups...and I would be lying through my teeth if I said that I wasn't just a bit curious as well." He shot a furtive glance at the premier, who was looking in the opposite direction across the yard, and added in a low voice, "Levi, please behave."

"I will if he does," Levi responded darkly.

Erwin opened his mouth and then seemed to think better of it.

x

"What are we going to see from your new squad today, Captain?"

They had ridden their horses steadily eastward at a rambling trot; they had been moving into the wind for the duration of their brief journey and were all thoroughly wet. Erwin kept wringing out his cloak like a washcloth.

The men halted in a clearing familiar to them; Levi squinted up into the pouring rain, gazing through the shadows of the trees and gathering mist. The dark outlines of the padded Titan targets were visible through the gloom—despite the knowledge that they were carved from wood, their silhouettes made the hairs on his arms and neck stand on end.

"I'm also interested in seeing what they look like, if that's what you're asking," Levi responded flatly, swallowing his instinct. The combination of the rain saturating every inch of his person and the unexpected company had left him in a poor temper before they had even left the stable yard; the primal fear that reared its ugly head at sight of the cutouts had him running on a particularly short fuse.

The premier, however, appeared to remain blissfully unaware of Levi's irritation. "Surely you can tell me something about them—and there are several in the capitol who are just as interested as I am. What separates them from other squads? How well-coordinated are they as a unit? Which of them shows the most potential to be your second-in-command in the f—?"

"As of now, I don't have the faintest clue," Levi interrupted, scrubbing his thumb over a spot of rubbery grime on his right rein.

"Don't have th—?"

"I'll share my thoughts once I see them in flight."

The premier pushed his rimless glass back up his nose. "Do you mean to tell—" He took a deep breath and started over, remembering himself. "Are you telling me, Captain, that you have never seen these people train before today?"

"That's exactly what I'm telling you," Levi responded coolly.

The premier looked from Levi to Erwin and then back again as though his two subordinates were partaking in a particularly engaging tennis rally. Levi studied Erwin's face carefully, but if Erwin was surprised or disappointed, he wasn't betraying the fact.

"Did you authorize this, Commander Erwin?" asked the premier. His voice was very tight.

"I turned him loose," replied Erwin, and his tone betrayed no more than his expression. "This is his squad. We all have to live with the residue of Captain Levi's choices—him more than any of us. I allowed him to utilize his own judgment."

"...and you trust Captain Levi's judgment."

It wasn't a question, but Erwin answered . "...implicitly."

Through the even patter of falling rain, Levi could hear it: the unmistakable mechanical whir of ODM gear rushed up behind them. Before he could voice this observation, something erupted into the open from the branches overhead, showering him and his colleagues with leaves and twigs.

The premier cast wary eyes towards the sky as he peeled a leaf from his glasses. "Who is this?"

"That's Oluo Bozado," said Levi, running a hand through his horse's mane to shake loose the fallen foliage. He didn't have to look twice to know—Oluo was, for all of his talents, was clumsy in the air and even more so on the ground.

"I know of him, of course: I've heard that he is exceptional, if something of a handful...birds of a feather," the premier remarked with another darkly appraising look at Levi.

Two more blurry figures emerged overhead with trained elegance. They closely followed the path that Bozado was blazing, moving steadily towards the outlines of the targets in the distance.

"Whoever has the worse hair of the two is Eld Shin. The other one is Gunther Shultz," Levi said preemptively, anticipating the question. He wasn't an eager person by nature, but he could drum up some enthusiasm for anything that got him out of the rain and away from ignorant scrutiny. "Shin is mature and tactical. Schultz is unrelenting. Both them and Bozado have extensive combat experience." He pointed through the mist towards the cutout Titans. "If you ride that way, I'm sure that you will be able to see that all three of them will be making clean cuts of each and every one—likely before you get there."

The premier and Erwin collected their reins, intending to follow the trio. Before they were able to advance further into the forest, however, the low buzz of ODM gear reached their ears once more and they dropped their hands, looking behind them into the dark line of trees. Levi let out a breath that he didn't realize that he'd been holding—he had been wondering whether his wild card would be able to keep up with the men and her lack of an appearance until now had not been reassuring.

She appeared in a shower of water droplets and twigs like Oluo had but, despite the break in the treeline, did not falter in her pursuit. She cartwheeled through the air with the athleticism of a gymnast—she wasn't as fast as Bozado or as strong as any of the three men, Levi noticed, but she was graceful and...'aerodynamic' was the best word for it. Her build lent her a natural grace as she cut smooth arcs between the trees, her cloak thrashing in the weather.

"That one—" the premier said, pointing.

"...what about her?"

"I've heard plenty of Bozado before, for better or worse. Shin and Schultz ring a bell...likely because of their achievements in the field. I have no idea who that was, though. She looks far too young to be here."

"She's quite a bit younger that someone that I'd normally have considered," Levi allowed grudgingly. "Petra Ral...field reports indicate that Ral has an exceptional record concerning her number of Titan kills in team efforts, proving that she can be group-oriented—which is something that was sorely needed on a team of brash, bull-headed men. At my request, Section Commander Hange Zoe also located complementing reports detailing exceptional combat skills."

The premier frowned, but his eyes were thoughtful. "How many kill assists are we talking about here?"

"Over thirty, if the field reports don't lie."

"Are they lying, though?" the premier responded. "It seems so unlikely; she looks as though a strong wind might knock her over." His expression was hard to read behind the water shining off of the lenses of his glasses, but the suspicion in his voice left so little doubt as to what weighed on his mind that his next question was quite unnecessary. "Are you sure that you did not pick her just because she is a very pretty girl?"

Erwin, who had been quiet for a long time, sensed danger. "You know," he said a bit too loudly, looking fixedly at the spot where the girl had disappeared into the trees. "Her record aside, I can see why she would be a reasonable choice. I just saw her for about five seconds and I found those five seconds very impressive...though she just needs someone to remind her that she is in the military instead of a talent show, flipping through the forest like that. I can't think of a better person for that particular job," he added, throwing Levi a shadow of a smile. "She's blatantly capable. If I'm honest..." His voice dropped suddenly. "She reminds me of Isabel Magnolia."

For someone who had spent the last several years running damage control on Levi's moods, this was not the right thing to say at all. Levi's horse gave a scrambling jump as its rider dug both heels into its ribs and set off at a rapid trot towards the target area, its back hollow in distaste. Though the path was overgrown, the trees were thinner overhead and Levi pulled up the hood of his cloak against the barrage of wind, rain, and the voices growing more faint behind him.


	4. The Tea

**Author: late update; whoops...there was some veterinary drama.**

He was sitting at his desk, the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers, when someone knocked on the heavy wooden door.

Outside the wide lattice window behind him, it had been dark for several hours. The cobblestone streets were empty apart from the occasional stray cat that would slip in and out of long shadows cast by the capitol's great buildings. He leaned back in his chair, tipping it on its rear two legs—if he tipped back far enough, he could feel a draft coming in through the window.

The knock sounded again, echoing in the emptiness of the hall beyond, and Levi let his chair fall back onto all four legs with a thud. _They are going to wake everyone in the whole damn building if I don't answer_. "Who is it?" he called curtly.

"Petra Ral, sir—I made tea. Do you want any?"

It had been dark for so long; it had to be almost two o'clock in the morning. What was Petra Ral doing making tea at two o' clock on a Tuesday morning?

"Sir, are you alive in there?"

Levi's fingers had found the bridge of his nose again. Weren't girls supposed to be shy and soft? If so, nature had gone more than slightly awry with this one: there was nothing shy about Petra. She was wide-eyed and slight, but her childishness ended there. Everything about her presence was strong and confident and maybe just a bit stubborn, even with—maybe especially with—a solid oak door between it and him.

"Come in," Levi said, and he didn't know why he said it.

The door creaked open and Petra slipped sideways through it, somehow balancing a steaming kettle, a cup, and what looked like a creamer in the arm opposite the hand on the knob. A tiny cloth bag dangled from her teeth.

"Oh, good, you already have one," she said thickly through the material as her eyes fell upon Levi's desk (a chipped teacup held the dregs of his previous drink). "I didn't bring another; I didn't think that I'd be able to carry one more thing—"

"Here—" said Levi, rising to take the kettle from her and setting it down on the back of a hardcover book. He crossed back to his side of the desk. "What time is it, anyway?"

"It's half-past two in the morning, Captain."

"What the Hell are you doing in here at half-past two in the morning?" Levi queried, shaking his head but pouring some of the hot water into his cup in spite of himself.

"Here—" Petra fished a tea bag from a pocket stitched into the front of her nightgown and threw it across the desk; Levi snatched it from the air. "Sorry—I was awake and it's just that I know that you don't really sleep...oh, and I brought sugar. The military is apparently buying it in these little cube things now instead of normally; I've never seen anything like it before—"

She made to throw the cloth bag across the desk as well, but Levi recoiled from it. "I don't take sugar with my tea and definitely not from people who carry it in their mouths; that's disgust—wait." He broke off, raising an eyebrow. "You've never seen sugar cubes before...?"

"They're strange little things!" she said, pulling one out and examining it between her thumb and index finger before dropping it into her cup.

Levi tried to wrap his brain around this piece of information as their drinks seeped and Petra idly fingered the string of her tea bag. It was very quiet; still, he was having trouble focusing again for some reason—he kept reading the same line over and over.

It was as though she could read his thoughts. "Why are you still working, sir?" Petra asked.

Levi exhaled through his nose, his brow wrinkling. He wouldn't be if he'd had his way. "It takes me quite a bit of time to certain parts of my job," he responded, grinding his teeth a bit as he crossed something out with his pen. "On top of babysitting you lot, I also seem to be required to sign off on everything from what supplies are delivered to who is allowed to take a shit. I think that the higher-ups assume that I don't have anything to do when the Survey Corps isn't deployed...to them, I'm on holiday." He squinted down at the page in front of him—the cover letter of a forty-odd page report on the conditions of the bread supplier to the Survey Corps. From what he could gather (which was not very much), it was not a report that seemed to have a happy conclusion.

"Petra, what's 'deerth' mean?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure...I don't think that's a word."

"It is; look."

She rose and leaned across the desk, reading the cover letter upside-down. "...that says 'dearth', sir."

"...does it?"

"Yes, it does."

"Huh...that's a stupid word."

Petra laughed; the sound was unexpected and seemed to warm the drafty air. "Have you never seen the word 'dearth' before?"

"If you must know, I don't read particularly well," Levi said shortly, wincing at the verbalization of his own ineptitude; he immediately regretted admitting such a thing. Petra's wide amber eyes blinked once, betraying her surprise, and Levi snorted to save face. "Don't look at me like that; you've never seen a damn sugar cube."

"Okay, that's fair." Petra reached for the kettle again. "Um...okay, see, if you have a dearth of something, it means that you don't have enough of it...like people have a dearth of land to live off of or a poor person has a dearth of money..."

"...or the Survey Corps is going to be facing a dearth of bread if our supplier doesn't get his fucking act together...sorry," he apologized roughly as Petra blinked again, but she shook her head—he could see the corners of her mouth upturned in a small smile.

"No, really—it's kind of nice, you know, to hear someone say what it is that they mean," Petra said.

"Is it?" responded Levi, tipping his chair back again, and the window didn't seem quite as drafty. He credited the tea.


	5. The Talk

**Author: even after being sent home from the hospital, I still wasn't able to ride very well. I took a job supervising pregnant horses who were considered high-risk for aborting or hurting their foals. I also delivered some foals myself—an experience that completely reaffirmed my belief that I've the maternal instinct of a toaster. Much of this chapter was written on an overnight shift while working that position in an attempt to detract my attention from** ** _the fucking horse placenta sitting in a bucket in the corner_** **.  
Side note...I'm not sure why so many people seem to write Petra as a shy little girl who stutters her superior's name. She's a fierce little thing and she regularly kills monsters. I thought that I'd try to pay tribute to those aspects of her character.**

* * *

For the third time that week, the less-than-tentative knocking sounded against the heavy oak door of his office and he didn't have to wonder who it was or ask why they were there in the early hours of a weekday morning or say that yes, he did indeed want tea. He didn't actually want tea, though. He didn't know what he wanted and that ate at him in a way that he was loath to admit.

Levi had been sitting at the desk for the better part of the day again and the latest episode of monotony had taken a ripper to his usually straight seams. He slouched in his chair, right foot on the desk and the other crossed over the knee, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His cravat was undone and draped around his neck and he spun an empty tea cup by its handle in one hand and sketched out a cube with the pen held in the other. "Come in," he said and, without having felt his body go through the motions, he found that he was reaching for the cloak flung over the back of his chair. He wasn't cold.

 _What are you doing?_ he asked himself, but even as the door cracked open and Petra shuffled inside, he still found a wandering hand attempting to flatten his hair. He withdrew it quickly when he saw that she was watching.

"You're looking a bit scruffy, Captain," said Petra, relieving herself of the steaming kettle.

Levi opened his mouth to reprimand before realizing that he didn't have the words on his tongue as quickly as he usually found them there. It was a disorienting sensation for a man who had defended himself as much with his tongue as he had with his fists—in that moment, all that he managed was a noise between a 'tch' and a grunt. His face felt hot. _I must be ill_.

If Petra had noticed his symptoms, she had the prudence to not mention them. "What have you been getting up to tonight?" she asked, tipping the kettle's spout into her cup.

"It's all of the usual bullshit," Levi replied, relieved to hear his voice achieve its usual tone. He glanced down to mark his place in his reading, but was forced to look back up at the sound of rustling paper.

Petra was rifling through the folder nearest her, flipping through the loose pages before returning to the cover letter. Her amber eyes narrowed uncharacteristically as she began to read, her gaze traveling rapidly across the page. She stopped at what looked to be about halfway through before leering across the desk at Levi, her expression suggesting that she had somehow been magnificently cheated.

"...the usual bullshit? Sir—this is the briefing for our squad's first expedition beyond the walls!"

"Yeah—so, the usual bullshit...I've been on enough road trips with the Scouts to last a lifetime." When Petra's face didn't change, Levi shook his head dismissively. "Look. Don't look so disappointed over my delay in relaying that bit of information to you. You can't pretend that you've been that eager to become Titan shit."

"I would be lying if I said that I wasn't excited to deploy."

Whatever Levi had been expecting, it had not been this. The wings of something—likely an acute awareness of mortality—gave a feeble beat deep in his chest. Before he could stop the words from tumbling out, he heard his voice saying, "Why is that?"

"I want to show you what I can do." Petra suddenly swallowed, her hard expression dissolving; she looked as much buffeted by the sound of her own voice as Levi had been by his. She looked down at her hands which were folded in her lap. "We all do, I mean—Eld and Gunther and Oluo as well, I mean. You know."

Levi did not know. The notion of anyone wanting to return to the wild land beyond Wall Rose—someone who had already seen what lurked in the ruins of old buildings and in between the trunks of trees—was unfathomable to him. What he did know is that he still didn't want tea, his stomach was rather uncomfortable, there was a lot of paper on his desk, the room seemed too warm, the atmosphere was balls deep in peculiarity...and that despite all of these things, he still didn't want to retire to his chambers. What he knew ended there.

He swung his feet down from the desk and straightened in his chair, still acutely aware of his disheveled appearance. "If you want to go through my belongings, at least be useful about it." Levi slid a thick stack of paper across the desk, reaching for the kettle with his other hand. "Read this, summarize it for me, and if it doesn't sound like complete shit, I'll sign it. I'm done; I'm not reading anything else tonight."

Petra pulled it towards her without objection. "What's this?"

"It has to do with ordering the smoke signal canisters—projections predicting what we're going to need for the new year. Somebody who regularly rides with the supply wagons prepared them—I don't think that he's entirely literate, though...looks like a chicken stepped in ink and ran across some paper."

"Huh, okay...then you just want me to tell you what it says and you sign off on it if you agree...? Captain, is that even allowed?"

"Did I stutter?"

"No, sir—I'm on it."

Levi snorted and raised his teacup to his lips. He had already scalded his lip before realizing that all that he was drinking was plain and very hot water. He looked up across the desk in search of a tea bag, but his gaze settled instead on Petra. She was reading, brow creased in an expression of intense concentration. She was a fast reader...she had already finished the cover letter. His eyes followed hers back and forth for a moment.

Captain Levi was a lot of things, but lacking in a healthy sense of curiosity wasn't one of them. "You read quickly."

"...hmm?"

"You read quickly...you're smart as Hell. You could be doing almost anything else with your life, but instead you're sitting here doing busy work and drinking tea with a—with me," Levi finished lamely. _What the fuck is wrong with you?_

"That's okay with me. I volunteered," said Petra, shrugging. "I know that I'm smart, even if it sounds foolish to say something like that...but I think that it's perfectly fine for smart people to be in the military, too. I mean, look at the commander. Anyhow..." she added. "You're smart as well."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere with me as your captain."

"That wasn't flattery."

"You already know that I'm a shit reader."

"There's different kinds of intelligence. If you weren't smart, you wouldn't be so bored almost every day."

"How do you figure that I'm bored almost every day?" asked Levi. He could feel an eyebrow arching skeptically in spite of himself. Titan fodder or not, at least one member of his new squad was entertaining.

"You sit here for hours and well into the night most days, but you never really do anything...because you find most of what you are asked to do beneath your skill set, probably, and you don't know what to do with yourself, I..." Her voice trailed off. "Oh, wow, I'm sorry...forgive me." Petra grimaced as Levi's brow reached peak elevation. "That came out...differently, I think, than I meant for it to."

Her words were reasonably, if uncomfortably, true. Levi had the distinct sense that if he had heard Erwin or Hange say the same thing that, despite the respect that they had earned several from him times over, he would have taken those words quite differently. Instead, he just felt a bland sort of acceptance, as well as a strengthening conviction that he had suddenly become transparent. He was not accustomed to the sensation.

"Why are you here?" Levi asked. He found himself having to manage his tone again. He cleared his throat; maybe he was losing his voice. "Not in my office, I mean—in the military."

Petra straightened in her chair. "I told you when I came in for my interview, sir, if you remember—I wanted to be a member of the Special Operations Squad because I felt that I could contribute—"

"Why are you actually here?" Levi interrupted, eyes narrowing. "Don't worry; I'm not going to sack you for whatever your answer is...although I probably should for your attitude," he added and he saw a smile ghost Petra's mollified expression. "I'm just...I don't know. I don't want the formulaic, bullshit excuse that I had to hear forty-something times when Hange and I ran those interviews. Most girls want to stay within the walls and have children and do all of that domestic stuff; I'm—" There was no way around admitting it. "I'm _curious_ as to why most of them are off doing that and you're...here."

"I'm not _here_ to pop out children," said Petra. Though she still looked as though she felt that she walked thin ice, the hard line of her jaw had not disappeared. "I was put here to save lives and...move mountains. I'm here to make this crapsack world just a little bit better and to do something more meaningful than sit in front of a vanity mirror. If my wanting to stay at home is the sort of preconceived idea that you have of women—"

"Easy there, brat," Levi said, raising a flippant hand, and Petra stopped speaking, lips pressed together as though her silence required a concentrated effort. Levi crossed his legs with an idle grace, hoping that the motion did not betray his surprise: Petra's response had raised more questions than it had answered. "There's no need to be defensive. I've known plenty of girls who did stuff other than pop out children...have you _met_ Hange?" Petra snorted and Levi was pleased to hear the same wary acceptance in her laugh as he felt every time that he thought of his Titan-obsessed colleague. "Anyhow—" he added. "I knew plenty of girls like you growing up."

He realized quickly that he had said too much and had probably been saying too much all night; it took about a heartbeat for that suspicion to be confirmed.

"Where are you from, sir?" asked Petra. She had put down the cover letter and drawn her knees to her chest, hands crossed across her ankles and chin resting on her knees. Her posture spoke of expectancy.

Levi shook his head. "Stop calling me 'sir' when I'm sitting here at two in the morning and letting you put your filthy feet on my furniture."

"That's not an answer...was my question intrusive?" One of Petra's brows was cocked as though she couldn't possibly believe that could be the case. Levi's frown deepened, turning over the issue of deciding how to best respond—he really wanted to respond. The reason for that sudden desire eluded him.

"I grew up near near the capitol," said Levi carefully. That was true.

"Oh—so you must have grown up very privileged, then!" said Petra, eyes widening. "That's exciting. Who's your family?"

 _Fuck._

"You don't know them. My family was...less than traditional." Levi replied. Insecurity crept in his stomach, or maybe something unpleasant from dinner. The latter was more likely...

"So was mine; I grew up with my father and four— _four—_ older brothers. No mother...she died when I was quite young. The five of them, though, they all write to me still—great big novels of letters; it's unbelievable. They all work at the university inside of Wall Sina, though, so I suppose that writing big things is something that they do a lot...I try to write back just as much but it's absolutely impossible. Do you ever write to your family?"

"I don't."

"That's a shame."

"They're dead, actually."

"Oh—" Something behind those wide eyes faltered. "That's...really terrible. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault."

"I know that it's not my fault. It's just that I...feel sorry for you, I guess."

Levi snorted. "I don't need anybody feeling sorry for me."

"Who do you talk to, though?"

"I don't need to talk to anybody."

"Everyone needs good people on their side, I think."

"Hange Zoe and Erwin Smith are good people."

"They're not family, though—family's different than friends and colleagues and stuff."

"Sometimes in life, your friends become your family. My friends were my family, you know—the family that you've been asking about."

"Huh..." said Petra. Her expression wasn't skeptical or judgmental—only curious. "That sounds really nice, though. See, I was kind of ungrateful when it came to having a whole herd of brothers...I had girlfriends growing up; I called them my sisters that I pretended were my family instead. I ended up close with the brothers, though." She paused hesitantly. "...can you tell me about your family?"

"I could."

"Well...will you?"

Levi looked evenly into Petra's face, devoid of any trace of the disparaging opinions that he had expected from someone of her background. Petra had been born into a family of wealthy academics and educated by some of the finest schools in the interior (he'd indulged himself in her file—not because he was interested, of course, because that would be unprofessional). He'd expected a critical eye and instead saw only curiosity.

Levi stretched back in his chair. "Yeah...okay..." He paused, trying to figure out where to begin, and was surprised—relieved, even—to find that he felt ready to talk about something that seemed like a good starting point.

"You remind me of one of them, actually—other people mentioned it before I realized it myself. Her name was Isabel and she was a fucking wild child—but she was a good girl, really, in most ways..."

He trailed off. A tightness in his chest had risen into his throat and he realized with a deep sense of disgust that his voice had risen half an octave.

Petra shoved her lukewarm tea at him. "Drink," she said, and Levi obliged, inhaling most of it in his eagerness to do something with his mouth, and he choked.

"...so there was Isabel," Levi coughed out, clearing his throat several times. "I knew Farlan longer, though," he continued, and he felt the warmth of the tea spread through him as he spoke.

"Farlan...?"

"Farlan—I lived with this guy named Farlan for a while before we met Isabel."

Levi found that he had been staring determinedly at a dried fleck of mud on one of his boots since he had started talking. He looked up again into Petra's expression of sincere, gentle interest and felt another kind of warmth tingle that he was positive had nothing to do with the tea. He took a deep breath, like a swimmer preparing to dive, and prepared to do what he did best: soldier on.

"Full disclosure...we lived in the underground. I wasn't lying when I said that we lived near the capitol. We lived right underneath it, geographically closer than most people on the surface but also the furthest away...you never realize how far away something is until you get that close to it. We were thieves; there's no denying it: we stole from a lot of people, but mostly from the Military Police—"

"You didn't!"

Levi had been expecting an interruption before this point—had even been hoping for one—but Petra had let him talk.

"We did," he said, and he had to suppress a smile at the look of unabashed satisfaction on Petra's face. "I still don't regret that bit. That's how we discovered the maneuver gear for the first time, actually...dicking around with it turned into using it for jobs. 'Jobs' is a nice word.

"Isabel came crashing through our door one night. She had this bird—it was all fucked up and she tried to bring it back up to the surface. Of course, that went completely to Hell and we ended up stuck with her," he finished lamely. It was an easier route than explaining that he had been wielding a knife for much of that initial encounter.

"...the end?" asked Petra with a wry smile.

"I'm not great at telling stories."

"No—it was a good story. You know...the real ones often are."

"The real ones don't have any heroes, Petra. They're depressing as Hell."

"I didn't think that it was depressing. She sounds like a wonderful person," Petra said firmly. "All of you do, really."

Levi snorted. "It's okay—they were self-aware, poorly-behaved degenerates. There's no need to fabricate—actually, Farlan and Isabel would both probably take it as an insult to their memories." He shook his head, mostly to clear it of the encroaching nostalgia that he loathed to fall prey to, and asked, "Are you almost done with that?" He gestured to the delegated documents that Petra was squinting at again. "It's late...or early, depending on your point of view."

"Here, maybe it's because we've been talking—or because it is _definitely_ either very late or very early—but I don't understand this..." Petra rose and crossed to his side of the desk, bending over the page and jutting an exasperated finger at a column of digits. "The numbers...they all start in the summer. Is the data for the first half of the year missing, or...?"

"We operate on a fiscal year instead of a calendar year, so it starts...in June..."

Their faces were very close now, he realized. Levi could smell her hair and it was sweet that sweetness reminded him of something but he didn't know what. She wasn't looking at him but then she was and her eyes were soft and wise and something else. Her hands weren't on the edge of the desk any more...they were reaching out...they had touched him, one running down his hip and the other wrapped in the front of his shirt. Her lips pressed against his and Levi could not catch the startled breath before it escaped him. His skin felt hot but wet with something that chilled him; a vague and distant part of his brain questioned the constitution of his stomach as his insides did a uncomfortable backflip. Her tongue parted his lips, soft but sure and demanding—but just as quickly as she had asked, she pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed.

"Captain..." Petra Ral said. Her tone was that one shared by all who find themselves stranded somewhere in the wide expanse of emotion between horror and exultation.

Levi inhaled and found himself on his feet; Petra's hands had fallen away from him and he grabbed at them both, pulling her into him, positioning them where he saw fit with an authority that he did not know that he possessed outside of mortal peril. His fingers found her hips, her back...they explored lower, over the fabric of her clothes and layers of muscle and sinew. He tilted her chin upward with his other hand and kissed her roughly; his teeth caught one of her chapped lips. A whistle of breath left Petra; her fingers tightened around the back of his neck. Levi felt the heat rose in his face as he pulled away.

"Farlan and Isabel were not the only ones who were poorly-behaved," he said, and he found himself praying to gods that he did not believe in that the line was received less terribly by her ears than had been by his. It had sounded a lot better inside of his own head.


	6. The Prescription

**Author: I love writing dialogue between Hange and Levi because Hange** ** _forcefully_** **reminds me of someone that I know.  
** **To answer a question asked last chapter...updates are still on Mondays.**

* * *

"Top of the mornin' to—"

"Stop."

Hange looked over her glasses curiously, examining her colleague across the breakfast table. "Hey...you look like shit."

"Your compliments are appreciated," Levi replied sardonically, tracing a finger along the inner corner of one shadowed eye where fatigue itched and whined.

"Are you hungover?"

"Don't be stupid. I don't get hungover."

"You're drinking coffee again."

"It doesn't count if I don't actually drink it. I'm just looking at it...I don't think that I could stomach the shit right now. Does anyone actually like coffee, or is it just something that humanity collectively started pretending one day?"

"You're talkative, too."

"I am not... _not_ talkative," Levi argued, stifling a barely-perceptible yawn that did not escape Hange.

"Are you not sleeping at night?"

"Not less than usual, if that's what y—"

"Did you hit your head?"

"No...?"

"I should have known the answer to that one; you're not tall enough to hit your head on anyth—"

"I'm ill, Hange, so shut up."

Hange blinked. "You're not."

"I am."

"I don't believe you."

"I'm only human. I get ill just like you do and today I'm ill. I feel like shit."

"What are your symptoms?! _Describe it_."

"You're not a doctor."

Hange sniffed haughtily. "I am, however, a woman of science. Women of science solve the problems and mysteries of the world and _you_ , Captain Levi, are probably the second-greatest enigma that the world has to offer."

Levi didn't have to ask what Hange thought that the first one was. The prospect of fending her off before dawn, however, made his eyes ache in his skull, so he leaned forward and said, in a low voice, "I have a fever."

"Did you get someone to check?"

"I didn't."

"How do you know, then?"

"I feel hot and cold at the same time. I'm pretty sure that's what a damn fever feels like."

Hange leaned across the table, one hand pushing aside Levi's dark fringe to feel his skin and the other narrowly missing a plate of orange marmalade. "You don't feel warm."

"Don't touch me; your hands are dirty."

"Dirt don't hurt."

"Don't speak like that, either; you sound like a ruffian."

"Yes, you would be the expert on that topic."

"Keep your voice down."

"I am, I am...what else are you convinced is wrong with you?"

"Stomach's bad, throat's weird—"

"Your throat sounds fine to me."

"Are you deaf as well as blind?"

"I'm not blind; I'm near-sighted—"

"Shit." Levi shook his hair back into place, hiding his eyes as his already uncomfortable insides resumed the previous night's gymnastics routine.

"What...?" Hange looked over her shoulder, down the rows of long tables, to where a small group of bleary-eyed young women were emerging through the door at the opposite end of the mess hall. "Levi...are you hiding from a gaggle of little girls?"

"It's...complicated," Levi allowed, a groan seeping into his tone as he caught sight of a flash of ginger near the center of the clique. "Just don't let any of them come over here."

Hange spun back around, slapping both hands against the table. A fork jumped ship and clattered to the floor. "Uh, who's the lucky lady?!"

"Not now; I'm—"

"You're not sick, Levi."

"If you keep talking, I'm about to be."

"Who is it?!"

"If I tell you _anything_ , the entire outpost knows before noon—"

"So, there is someone!"

"—whether it's true or not."

" _Did you do it_?!"

Levi had been testing the lukewarm coffee, which was only getting worse instead of better, and promptly gagged on it. "What—? No— _fuck_ no—"

Hange snorted into her plate. Levi rose to leave and shoved his chair in under the table in exasperation; it rapped against Hange's knees.

"Hey, Romeo, where are you going?"

"I don't have time for this."

He had turned to leave but Hange, still seated, grabbed his wrist before he could step away.

"Don't make a scene," she said, lowering her voice. "I'm sure that would be unseemly to our mystery lady. Anyhow, it's okay, you know. Welcome, Captain Levi, to the ranks of us lesser mortals: if your personal life isn't a carriage wreck, you are not living it fully."

Despite, or perhaps because of, the preceding banter, Levi felt a sudden rush of admiration for the crazy woman who never failed to take it all in stride with grace and acceptance. He cast a glance over his shoulder at his friend—she was smiling, genuinely, and he felt some of the tension leave his body.

"Okay, doctor..." he said, fighting the corner of his mouth that threatened to turn upwards. "What am I going to do?"

Hange released him, reaching across the table for a butter knife. "I don't know," she said as she spread jam liberally across her toast. "Get laid."


End file.
